


(anything) (everything) (always) for you

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Harley Keener, Crime Fighting, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener as Iron Lad, Hostage Situations, Inspired by: Die Hard, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parkner Secret Santa 2019, Protective Harley Keener, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Stark Industries Holiday Party is well underway, but Harley and Peter are having a small problem.It gets worse from there.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 388





	(anything) (everything) (always) for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lu_marii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lu_marii/gifts).



> Hope you like your gift!!! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

The Stark Industries Holiday Party was getting into full swing, and they should have been out there.

Unfortunately, Harley was sitting on his bed, trying not to get his suit wrinkled and probably failing. 

In front of him, Peter was pacing, hands fumbling together as he tried to organize his thoughts. Harley had let him think for a while, but he knew Tony would be looking for them soon and there was no way he wanted the man to come across this situation.

“Listen, sweetheart.” Harley’s fingers fumbled with the ring box in his hands, and he spoke reluctantly. “Let’s just forget this happened tonight, okay? I’ll put it away, we can talk about this another time.”

“No, I-” Peter let out a frustrated groan, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. “I want to, Harley, I really want to take the ring, but I just- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you want to take it or why you won’t?” Harley asked carefully, searching Peter’s face for an answer.

Peter inhaled deeply. “If people found out my identity, and they knew we were married, that’s harder to hide than dating you, Harley. You could be kidnapped, or- or killed, or used as leverage, and I already worry about that with May.”

“Peter, I can take care of myself,” Harley argued. “I’m not - well, May isn’t helpless either, but I’ve at least trained some. I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not,” Peter said. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“So you say I’m not helpless, but you still don’t want to go through with this.” Harley snorted, standing up and tossing the ring back into the sock drawer where he had been hiding it. “Way to make a guy feel loved, honey.”

“Harley-”

Harley shook his head. “I know, that’s not what you’re saying. I’m just hurt right now, and I’m being an asshole about it.” He leaned against the dresser, forcing himself to take slow, measured breaths. 

Peter laughed bitterly. “You probably have the right to be a little bit of an asshole,” he said, but Harley couldn’t find the humor in it.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his watch, desperately looking for a distraction. A message from Tony flashed across it, multiple question marks accompanying it, and Harley withheld a sigh of relief. “Tony’s texting us.”

Peter looked down on his watch before stepping in front of the mirror, adjusting his suit jacket. “You coming?”

Harley nodded slightly. “In a minute,” he said. “I just need a minute.”

“Okay.” Peter moved to stand in front of Harley, cupping his face with his hands and drawing him into a kiss. Harley shut his eyes and leaned into it, pretending like his chest wasn’t a writhing mess of pain and hurt. “I still love you,” Peter said. “Always have, always will.”

“Mhm,” Harley nodded, pulling away. “Love you too.” The words sounded hollow even to his own ears, an automatic response. 

He could see it in Peter’s face, the sadness in his eyes as he pulled away. But the buzzing on his wrist distracted him, and Harley watched him walk away, toward the door and down to the elevator, where the main room below was buzzing with festive activity. 

As soon as he was alone, Harley squeezed his hands into fists so forcefully he knew his nails were making indents in his skin. Angry, hurt tears pricked at his eyes, and he suppressed a shuddering sob that worked its way up from his lungs to his mouth. “Goddammit,” he muttered. 

He pulled the ring out, flipped it open. Looked at it.

It was a simple ring, a thick silver band with a small diamond set on top of it. Harley sighed, holding it up to the light and rereading the inscription he had set into it before slipping it back in the box, putting it in his pants pocket.

Harley swallowed, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair was mussed and his eyes were slightly red, but by the time Harley had fixed his hair, the puffiness had faded slightly. 

Harley glanced at his watch, but there were no more messages from Tony. There were no notifications at all, which Harley thought was strange. But he knew he was late, so he straightened his suit jacket and left the room, planning to pause briefly on the balcony to look over the party before heading to the elevator. 

He stopped at the edge of the glass balcony, freezing for a moment before pressing himself behind a wall and crouching down to look below.

A low, gruff voice was talking, someone Harley had never heard before. He could see multiple men armed with guns and grenades around the perimeter of the room, and the party attendants had all been pushed to the middle, surrounding the giant tree in the center of the room. Harley scanned the cluster, but he could only spy Pepper, talking lowly to an older man in a suit, glancing furtively at the men surrounding the room.

A side door opened, and Harley stifled a gasp as Tony and Peter were marched out, wrists pulled behind their back by two hulking figures. Tony had a bruise blooming across his cheek and a cut down the side of his face, and Peter looked otherwise unharmed, but his shoulders twitched, his senses clearly going haywire. 

Harley looked to his watch but it didn’t turn on. He tapped on it a few times, but there was nothing.

“You think you’re so smart, Stark,” the man growled, pushing the barrel of a gun underneath Tony’s upturned chin. “You, living in your palace up in the sky, looking down on everyone.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what multiple doctorates will do, they sort of do make you better than a petty thief,  _ Mark _ .” Tony quipped, subtly trying to move his hands to reach something. “Pretty shitty name, by the way, you didn’t want to pick something more terrifying?” Mark snapped his fingers, and another man walked over to Peter, pulling out a large knife and leveling it at his throat. Tony stilled. 

Peter’s eyes darted from the blade over to Tony, a small, “Mr. Stark, should I-”

“No,” Tony said firmly. “Just stay calm, kid.”

“Okay.” Peter licked his lips, then said. “You know I’m not a kid anymore, I’m twenty-two, so-”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stop calling you kid when you start calling me Tony.”

“Shut the hell up,” the man growled, and the knife pressed hard enough against Peter’s throat that Harley could see a thin trickle of blood ran down his front, dripping on his collar. His breath caught, and he covered his mouth to stifle a cough.

“Hey!” Tony yelled. He lunged forward only to be yanked back by the hands around his wrist. “Quit it with that shit, don’t touch him.”

“I think I’ll do whatever I want,” Mark said, smiling thinly. “After all, I hold all the power here. With that EMP we got from AIM labs, everything you’ve ever relied on is knocked out for a good long time unless you give us what we want.”

Tony frowned, looking more annoyed than anything. He tilted his chin, rolling his eyes a little as he inclined for the man to continue

“Listen, Stark, I’m a simple guy,” Mark said. “All I want is a fair bit of your money, all of your weapon blueprints, and a promise that you won’t come after me and my men, and I’ll reverse the EMP and let you and everyone else go! You all could get back to the festive spirit, how about it?”

Harley edged out onto the balcony slightly, not sure what he was going to do but wanting to do something.

Tony shook his head vehemently. “I don’t have any blueprints like that anymore.”

Mark tilted his head to the side. “I know you do. And I know where you keep the hard copies, too, we just don’t have the passcodes. But, well, that’s fine,” he said. “Let’s just say that for every, oh, half-hour you don’t deliver, I’ll shoot one of your guests. Maybe I’ll kill them, maybe I won’t. Sound good?”

Harley could see Peter stiffen at the threat. He inched closer. 

“Whatever happened to Christmas spirit?” Tony lamented, shoulders tight. “Killing people will get you on Santa’s naughty list, you know. He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re-”

Harley bit back a noise of alarm as Tony was smashed across the face with the butt of the gun. Startled gasps and slight screams echoed around the room as Tony shook his head, blood streaming from his nose, dripping onto his suit and onto the floor. “Oh, fucking-” he grunted. “Can you at least let my hand free so I can pinch my nose? This suit is too expensive to get blood on.”

“I could hit you again?”

“Yeah, nope I’m good, thank you.”

Peter turned slightly then, trembling slightly from the blade on his neck. He grunted softly, trying to lean back, but the knife pressed further. “Seriously man, I’m not going to go anywhere, you can quit it with the-” His voice cut roughly as his eyes found Harley’s.

“What, did I cut your voicebox or something?” the man said, huffing a laugh. 

Harley stared back, frozen in indecision. He stared at Peter, heart beating so fast it felt like it would fly out of his chest. Terror gripped his stomach, and he only flinched back when the man holding the knife followed Peter’s eyes up to the balcony. 

“Hey, shit, we missed one!” he roared, and Peter flinched, eyes facing front then looking over to Tony. Harley pulled himself back to the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What?” Guns turned toward the balcony, and Harley scrambled away, heading for the elevator. He pressed it on instinct, only to realize that the elevator would be out of power as well. 

“Who’s up there?” A voice roared. 

Mark snarled, and there was the click of a safety unlocking. “Stark, you better tell me who’s up there or I’ll start shooting.”

“Hey, it hasn’t been a half-hour yet! Give a guy time to make up his mind,” Tony said, eyes blinking up toward the balcony and back away.

“Whoever’s up there is trying to use the elevator,” Mark said. Harley froze in his tracks, backing away. From a shadowed alcove in the hallway, he looked around. The floor he was on was suspended around the gathering room below, the glass balcony the only way around the floor.

There were stairs at one end of it, but to get there, Harley would have to walk around the perimeter of the room, in plain view of everyone down there.

He swallowed, mentally mapping the Tower in his head. If he could get up three flights of stairs, Tony’s lab was on that floor. Assuming he could figure out the manual bypass and get in there, he could- 

Would that even work? Harley’s face scrunched, his thoughts faltered. 

A shot fired. Guests screamed as the bullet lodged itself in the thick glass several feet away from Harley, but enough to make Harley jump.

“I know you’re up there!” Mark said, a sing-song tone worming its way into Harley’s ears. He shuddered.

One floor. He could get up one floor, at least. Then he could decide what to do next.

He crouched down and got ready to run. 

As soon as he dashed into the open, he could see in his peripheral the way the guns trained on him, the way each weapon rose toward the balcony. 

“Who are you?” Mark barked, turning toward the balcony

“He’s no one!” Peter yelled, breaking the grip around his wrists, ducking under the knife and throwing himself forward at Mark. Those with guns turned toward him, and the guests’ murmurs grew in the clamor. 

“Peter!” Tony shouted. “Don’t-”

“I know!” he said, shooting Harley a quick, serious look that Harley barely caught as he ran low along the glass balcony wall, praying that the bulletproof glass would be enough to block the oncoming bullets.

Harley grabbed the handrail of the staircase and pulled himself up to it, body fueled by adrenaline as it pushed forward.

It stopped in his tracks at the explosive sound of a gunshot.

“Harley!” The strangled noise sounded ripped from Peter’s chest. And the next noise, “Go!” tore a hole in Harley’s heart.

He wanted to yell back so many things, an apology, a declaration, anything.

Harley turned back briefly, but couldn’t see down below.

“Go, get up the stairs!” Mark barked. “And radio the others, tell them to head down a few levels.”

Harley swallowed a sob. He could feel the ring box bouncing against his side, a cruel reminder of the issues between them that he would give anything to be able to discuss again. 

The stairs ended, and Harley darted left. This was one of the research and development floors, surely there had to be some kind of weapon he could use, he’d take just about anything-

Harley skidded to a stop, dropping behind a desk. A man roamed the floor, a large gun strapped to his back. A radio crackled, and Harley could only just make out  _ “kzzt - unknown - your floor - kzzt - important - alive” _

“Hm,” the man grunted. Harley pressed a hand to his mouth to slow his breathing, creeping around the side of the desk. “Any closer to getting the safe combination?”

Now that Harley was a little closer, he could hear the radio transmission a bit clearer.  _ “Stark - his kid - kzzt - refusing. Might shoot him again if - kzzt - cooperate.” _

Harley reached up from underneath the desk, quietly feeling around for something heavy to hit the man with. His hand grasped something that felt like a stapler, so he lifted it up and pulled it down to where he crouched under the desk.

The heavy stapler now in his hands, Harley pressed his back to the underside of the desk as the man patrolled the room, grumbling under his breath as he passed next to him. Harley crawled out, slowly rising to his feet and raising the stapler. The man turned, but Harley had already thrown the heavy object at his face, the metal cutting into his face and sending his head snapping to the side. 

The man reached for his radio, but Harley had already reached him and smacked it out of his hand before he could press anything, sending it flying across the room, cracking off the side of a desk and spinning across the floor.

Harley grunted as he dodged a punch, mind flickering as he remembered his brief training sessions with Natasha and Peter. He wished she wasn’t on a mission right now, but he clenched his jaw and turned, pulling his leg up to kick out at the man in the center of his chest, sending him stumbling back. Harley moved toward him, punching up against the assailant’s chin, popping his head back. 

Harley jumped back, grabbing another stapler from a different desk. He crouched down and picked the radio up, ignoring the garbled communications coming from it. The man advanced toward him, arms up to block and oncoming staplers so Harley threw is haphazardly and ran, fingers fumbling to switch off the radio as he went. 

He dashed through offices and open spaces, not entirely sure where he was going. He still hadn’t seen another flight of stairs.

Harley crouched underneath another desk, jaw clenched as he tried to survey the room for anything useful. But unlike his lab, or even Tony’s, all the desks were clear and whatever holopads might have been flickering with projects had been shut down.. So Harley grabbed something thick and heavy, finding a round glass paperweight in his hands.

“Hope this isn’t important,” he huffed, chucking it at the man as he entered the room, only a few feet from where Harley had been. The man grunted as the heavy glass smashed against the side of his head and Harley scrambled to his feet, dashing out of the office and around a hallway before the man could see where he went. 

Then Harley found himself at a dead-end, a small kitchenette with haphazard chairs and a few dishes that hadn’t been put away, but no way out.

“Shit,” Harley muttered. He opened the drawers quickly, but there was nothing in it save for pieces of silverware and knives too small to do much damage with.

One drawer was heavier than the rest, and Harley might have put it down to the utensils in there if he didn’t feel the false drawer underneath. 

“Thank the heavens for Nat,” Harley muttered, releasing the safety. In the small enclosed space, everything seemed so close. “I’m gonna buy her the best present when she gets back.”

Harley pressed himself back against the far wall, panting slightly as the thick suit pressed against his body. “Ok, fuck this,” he muttered, switching the gun from hand to hand as he pulled the jacket off and then, seconds later, tore off the tie as well, loosening a few buttons. He pushed aside his hair from where it was beginning to slip from its styled position into his face. 

“Gimme my walkie back, you little shit!” the man roared, and Harley could hear his footsteps drawing nearer. 

Harley crouched down, aiming the gun at the entryway. When the man entered, Harley fired, aiming for the kneecap. The man crumpled with a pained cry, pulling the trigger haphazardly as he hit the floor. 

Harley stayed behind the counter until he knew it was safe, then dashed around it and to the man. He reached out to pull the gun from him, but the man’s hand darted out and grabbed his ankle, yanking it to the ground. Harley’s back hit the floor and he let out a pained noise, kicking out with his other foot. It connected with the man’s face, and Harley was able to scramble away as blood began gushing from the other’s broken nose. 

Harley stood up, wincing as his ankle protested. From down the hallway, he could hear scrambling voices, heavy marching footsteps. 

“Okay, gotta go,” he muttered, looking around the room. In the side of the room was a large metal grate, one connected to the air vents that ran throughout most of the upper floors of the building. 

Harley dragged a table over, the grating noise of it scraping against the floor screeching in his ears. He clambered on top of it, pulling out his Swiss Army knife and unscrewing the grate.

Harley placed his hands on the edge of the air vent and pulled himself up and into it, laying down on his stomach. There was only just enough room for him to crawl through the vents, not even enough to turn around and replace the grate.

The vent became more suffocating the longer Harley stayed in it, but he didn’t have another choice. He knew the tower well enough to know how to get to most places, though it was a little confusing from the vents. Harley continued to look through the grates below and to the side, checking to make sure he was on the right path. 

At one point there was a large space, with a higher ceiling than Harley had come across so far. He crawled over to that and sat up, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and pushing his sweat-soaked hair back as best he could. Harley rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, sighing as the heat of the close-quartered vent pressed in on him. 

Harley pulled out the radio, switching it on and holding it close to his ear. 

_ “Any luck on the passcode?” _

_ “No. Gonna come and try it out yourself?” _

_ “Where are you at?” _

_ “98th floor, Stark’s lab. Where are you?” _

_ “Guarding the EMP on the 87th. It’s so damn boring here.” _

Harley nodded at the information, idly switching between channels as he rested for a few minutes more.

_ “Kzzt- where’s that guy? It’s one of Stark’s brats, he can’t be allowed to escape, are you kidding me? How incompetent are you?” _

_ “Boss, we don’t know, he wiggled in the vents like some kind of fuckin’ worm.” _

There was a barking laugh from the other end of the radio; it sounded like Tony. Harley snorted despite himself as Mark growled, but the laughter faded from his lips as there was a loud smack through the radio, and a pained grunt. Harley didn’t know who had been hit. 

He swallowed, holding the radio up to his lips. “Yeah, you bet your ass I escaped, and good luck finding me. You don’t know this tower half as well as I do.”

_ “Who is this? _ ” Mark hissed.  _ “And why do you sound like a slurring sewer rat?” _

Harley snorted. “What, you’ve never heard a Tennessee accent before, hon? Have fun finding me, it’ll be a real trip.”

He muted the radio and put it back in his pocket before the man could respond, only shaking slightly.

“Tony’s lab,” he said. “Manual bypass. Get back to Peter-” his heart clenched, fear and worry and anger swirling inside him. He touched the ring box. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered to himself. “Get to Peter. Make sure he’s okay.”

Harley looked out a vent to track where he was and began to move. He made two rights and continued for a long while until he reached what seemed like a dead-end, until he looked up and saw the vent stretch up for an incredible length, so long he couldn’t see the end.

“Damn,” Harley grunted, standing up in the vent. “Got to admit, was sort of hoping for a slanted one.”

As he looked around the vertical vent, Harley spotted a bulging package to the left of his head, just low enough for him to reach. He stood on the tips of his toes and pulled it down, yanking tape off the vent and resonating a horrible echo through the space. 

Harley winced at the sound and crouched down, peering at scribbled writing in dim light. “Dear Clint,” he muttered, confusion scrunched in his face. “To Clint, love Clint.” There was an exclamation point on the end. “What in the name of Jesus,” Harley said, yanking open the package. 

Two things that looked like arrows tumbled out, only their tips weren’t pointed, they were concave, almost inside out. Harley looked at it and frowned for a moment before picking it up and pressing it firmly to the side of the vent above him. He let go. It stuck.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Harley said, pumping his fist with his free hand. He picked up the other, and slowly, bracing his feet against the side, Harley began to climb up the ventilation shaft.

It was nearly impossible at times. Harley was sweating profusely in the enclosed chamber, hoisting most of his weight on his arms was exhausting, and even though Harley braced his feet on either side of the vent and occasionally leaned against the side to take some weight off, the knowledge that at the tiniest mistake would send him crashing down a reminder to keep pushing. The end of the vent was in sight. 

Harley nearly threw himself up there to grip onto a horizontal surface, and with the suction cup arrows as his anchors, Harley soon lay panting on the cold metal of a vent, shirt untucked and hair flopping in his face. His arms felt like they didn’t exist, simultaneously burning and numb, he felt if he even tried to tuck his hair behind his red, flushed ears he’d give up before he even reached his face.

Still, he managed to drag himself through the last bit of the vent, pushing out the vent cover to drop down onto the floor. Harley groaned and picked himself up, leaning against the wall. 

The room was enclosed in glass save for the wall Harley had fallen out of, and he noticed with a rush of relief that there was a pitcher of water sitting on a table, one that Harley vaguely recognized as one of the meeting rooms Pepper had to frequent. 

He picked up the pitcher and ignored the cups, downing half the container within a few seconds. Harley sucked in a ragged breath as he set it down, leaning heavily against the table.

Harley looked around the open glass walls, frowning at the level of exposure. “FRIDAY, blackout,” he called automatically before shaking his head. He slumped against the side of the table for a moment, turning on the radio behind the cover of a chair. His mouth was still dry.

_ “Time’s ticking, Stark,”  _ Mark was saying.

_ “Hey, you found your vent boy yet?”  _ Tony snarked.

_ “It’s been more than a half-hour, I’ve been plenty gracious.”  _ Mark snarled.  _ “You. Shoot into the crowd.” _

_ “Hey, hey, _ ” Tony said quickly, voice slightly panicked. Harley stood up, pushing past his exhaustion to turn out the door.  _ “We can do this another way, okay? I can- I can tell you-” _

_ “I’m tired of waiting. Maybe some blood on your hands will motivate you to tell me the damn passcodes, Stark!”  _ Harley could hear the click of the gun safety, and his eyes widened, scrambling for the radio.

“Mark!” Harley yelled into the radio.

_ “Ah, the cowboy returns,”  _ Mark sneered.

“Yeah, yeehaw, motherfucker. Already gave up on finding me?”

_ “It’d go quicker if you’d tell us where you are.” _

“Nah, rather not. The chase is more fun, I think.”

_ “I’d rather you come to us. How’s this for some motivation? For both of you.” _

Harley grit his teeth as screams echoed from the radio, clamor growing. He pressed the call button, about to scream into it, but movement from another room stopped him. He quickly muted the radio, cutting off Mark’s words. Harley pulled the gun out, holding it up as he rounded the corner. He knew this floor by heart, and knew it was only a few hallways until he reached Tony’s workshop.

This guard was patrolling the hallway - clearly they had put more stock in guarding the EMP than Tony’s workshop - and he was whistling a bright holiday tune, tossing a handgun from hand to hand. Harley approached him silently, walking closer and closer to him as he moved down the walkway to the workshop. When the guard finally turned around, Harley quickly raised his gun. “Don’t move,” he said firmly. “Drop your weapon. And the radio.” 

The guard sneered at him. “You know why I’m the only one on this floor?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Harley took a step back, near a doorway. “Uh… you’re fucking crazy and no one wanted to work with you?”

“Mostly the first thing,” the man said, and Harley just barely managed to dive out of the way as he began firing.

Harley shot without thinking, diving behind a plant stand for cover. He poked out, firing at the man again and catching him in the shoulder, knocking him back. Harley was distantly aware of a fire in his calf, but he ignored it as he continued to fire at the man until eventually, he hit a shot that dropped him to the ground, groaning as the blood left his body.

Harley hissed as the adrenaline faded and the pulsing in his calf increased tenfold. He looked down warily, and cringed at the graze in his side where the bullet had sliced through, running with blood. “Fuck,” he muttered, wincing with every step. 

He stumbled up to the entrance of Tony’s workshops, placing his hand on the mechanism for the manual password. He typed in the long password Tony had forced him and Peter to both memorize in case of… well, in case of exactly this, Harley figured. There was a nearly-silent click, and Harley wedged his fingers in the crack between the door and the wall and slowly slid it open, limbs burning with exertion at every movement. 

“Alright,” he breathed, leaning against the door. Tony’s lab displayed before him, a mess of projects half-finished and scattered tools. In the back corner was an Iron Man suit that they had almost finished repairing last night. “Let’s take these fuckers down already.”

He finishes repairing the suit and manually pushing power into it to override the EMP - a process that Harley knows shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes, but with every passing second the fear of what’s happening below him grows. He cleaned and wrapped his leg with the first aid supplies Pepper forced them to keep in the workshop as he waited.

When it was ready, Harley opened up the suit and placed himself into it, feeling the metal wrap comfortingly around his limbs. “Manual voice activation sequence - Iron Lad Takeover.”

There was no FRIDAY - her systems were still shut down by the blockade and Harley didn’t have time to get around that. The screen showed less than twenty minutes of bootlegged power, and Harley could only hope that was enough. 

He thundered toward the elevator, ripping the doors off and revealing a long, dark elevator shaft. Harley jumped down it, falling several floors before pushing power into the thrusters to keep him upright. He hovered in front of a different floor, pulling the doors apart

“Tony can pay for those,” he muttered, flying down the hall. The walkie he had attached to the suit’s communications centered buzzed, and a gruff voice asked  _ “Hey, you hear that?” “Hey, Greg, you fall over or something?” “Wasn’t me.” _

Harley burst into the room, repulsors raised. “Turn off the EMP,” he ordered. When the men didn’t move at first, the repulsor whined with a charge. “Now!”  
They all raised their guns, and Harley groaned as they began firing. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen,” he complained as bullets began to strike the armor. Harley watched the armor integrity slowly begin to tick down before shaking his head slightly, and firing at the men. He wove his way through them, firing blast after blast at them, careful to avoid the EMP as he took them down. 

The walkie crackled.  _ “What the fuck is happening down there? Hello? Are any of you competent enough to answer?”  _

Harley clenched his jaw, shouting in the radio. “Yeah, it’s me, fucknuts! I’ve got a suit and you’re goin’ down.” He weaved around another round of bullets as a few penetrated the side of the armor, dropping the percentage. He had less than ten minutes of power left before the EMP overrode it all.

_ “Send in everyone else! It’s Stark’s brat down there, little shit’s still living.” _

There was another short laugh from Tony, and a weak cheer from Peter. Harley felt a small smile twitch to his face before a warning from the display drew his focus back. Harley began moving toward the EMP, but more armed men entered the room, instantly beginning to fire on Harley and the suit.

“Can’t you fuckers learn to leave well enough alone?” Harley grumbled, watching the power levels slowly count down. He hit a few away with his fists, swallowing nervously as functions began to shut down. No longer able to put enough power into flying Harley steadied the suit on the ground, kicking a few back. He grunted as a wave of bullets pounded into the center of the suit, knocking him back. Alarms blared in his ears as the suit flashed warning after warning across his vision. 

“All powers into repulsors,” he grunted, pushing his hands together and sending the remaining power at the few men remaining, knocking them to the floor with the force of the blast. 

_ Power critical _ , the display reminded him, and Harley screwed his eyes shut, frustration and exhaustion and panic overtaking him all in one moment. 

When he opened them the room was silent save for the buzzing EMP and the blaring noises of the suit. Harley quickly ejected himself from the suit with the last bit of power there was. “Shit!” he gasped, watching the bullet-ridden suit tip backward and collapse in a heap on the ground. Harley lunged for the EMP and shut it off, ripping the cords from the massive arc reactor and bringing power back to the tower. 

Harley melted to the ground, groaning slightly as he raised his now-function watch to his lips. “FRIDAY? Deploy back stand suits, level 95.”

“You got it, Mini-Boss,” FRIDAY said, and Harley had never been so relieved to hear her voice. He pulled himself up, ignoring the pains and sores throughout his body as he moved for the elevator, where the barrier was torn away. The open elevator shaft echoed before him, and Harley pressed a button to call for the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall as it came to him.

Harley groaned as he stepped inside, the bright lights of the elevators pulsing in his vision as he numbly hit the button with 95 on it. He closed his eyes and leaned against the elevator wall, content to rest his head against the side for just a brief second.

He felt his legs slip out from under him, and he grunted as he fell to the floor, leaning his head against the cool wall as reality slipped away and the darkness overtook him.

“...Harley? Harls, wake up.”

Harley mumbled nonsensically, sore muscles protesting as he felt his body lifted off the ground. “Wh… no, wanna nap, mm. Tired.”

“Harley.” The voice was familiar, and when Harley blinked open his eyes he found himself in familiar arms, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder. “Harley, you’re okay, we’re all okay.”

“Peter?” Harley mumbled, turning to look up, seeing dried blood on a familiar jaw. “You-you're o-okay, what-” he cleared his throat. “I thought they shot you, I-”

“Hey, super healing, remember?” Peter laughed a little, gently adjusting Harley in his arms drawing him closer. “I’m okay. Let’s get you to the med bay, alright?”

Harley nodded, exhaling slowly. “Everyone okay?” he said, yawning. 

“Yeah, yeah, they’re fine,” Peter said. His voice trembled slightly, and Harley opened his eyes.

“Someone else got shot,” he said, as stern as he could through his weariness. “I heard it, I had a radio, who was it?”

“We’re almost there,” Peter said. “Look, he’s fine, Harley, Tony’s been shot before and lived. He’s being treated now.”

Harley snorted. “Amazing he stay conscious through all that, I heard him laugh just a bit ago.”

“Yeah, that was a while ago,” Peter said as the walls changed to the white color Harley recognized as the hospital wing. “He passed out pretty quick after that, and once you got the EMP shut off and the suits up, it was pretty easy.”

“Oh good,” Harley drawled sleepily, eyes beginning to flutter shut. “Wouldn’t want you to be challenged, or anything.” When Peter laughed, 

Peter’s arms left him as the soft bed of a hospital bed consumed him. Harley turned, reaching for Peter with shaky arms. 

“H-hey,” he said, catching Peter’s hand before he could leave. Harley tipped his head back toward the ceiling. “Um, with everything that happened tonight, darlin’, I just-” he sighed, taking the ring box out of his pocket.

Peter’s breath hitched. “Harley, I told you-”

With the last of his remaining strength, Harley threw the ring box to the far side of the room. “Don’t need that shit,” he said. “I don’t need a ring, I know you love me. And I love you. That’s what’s important.”

“I do love you. You kicked the asses of those guys for me,” Peter laughed, leaning over Harley. “And hey, someday- someday I’ll be able to wear that ring, okay? Not this year, but someday.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you into it,” Harley said. “The ring doesn’t make a damn difference, but almost losing you does. I love you, darlin’. Always, and forever.”

“I love you too, Harley,” Peter leaned down, kissing Harley softly on the lips.

Harley smiled, leaning into the kiss. “Well, Merry Christmas,” he whispered against Peter’s lips. “You think this is our weirdest one yet?”

Peter shook his head grinning widely. “Nope. Definitely doesn’t beat the worm year.”

“Oh my god, the  _ worm year _ !” Laughter bubbled up from Harley’s chest, and soon neither he nor Peter could stop laughing, inches away from each other’s face, content and safe with each other and their love.


End file.
